


Take-Out Thursdays

by Alternatively



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 21:05:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18668368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternatively/pseuds/Alternatively
Summary: If that kiss had never happened... An alternative Ron-and-Hermione get together. Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts.





	Take-Out Thursdays

A lot had happened since the battle of Hogwarts. They were all still friends, but it was different somehow, four years on, without a common enemy. They had different enemies now. Harry was still hunting dark wizards. Hermione was championing creature rights. Ron was… negotiating peace deals. Strange how things work out. They'd sort of drifted into their own lives. They all made an effort to get to Mrs Weasley's family lunches on Sundays, but it was always a bit pot luck as to who could make it.

Things were changing again though.

Hermione and Luna had been flat sharing for nearly two years, and it was working quite well- if you overlooked accidentally walking in on George and Luna doing… whatever it was they were doing. Nice that they were happy though. Thursday nights they went to his place, which was a delight. Hermione loved Thursday nights. The flat to herself. A glass of wine. A bubble bath. A muggle movie. Things were… comparatively peaceful.

But Thursday nights had changed, recently.

Ron was back in the country, lounging about, and loosening his tie. Hermione couldn't quite adjust to the idea that it was Ron who was responsible for keeping several different cultures from declaring war on each other. He'd pop into the grate sometimes, from Belgium or Iceland, to ask for advice on dealing with certain creature groups, or to sound her out on cultural norms. He said it was like chess.

Sometimes, she'd take a few days off and visit him, somewhere, and do some sightseeing, and it was almost… but it nothing ever came of it. They had a nice time, that was all.

He was back in the country now. Had been for a couple of months. Turned up to a Sunday lunch one week, and stayed. It was that time of year though. Ron always seemed to move back to the Burrow temporarily over summer. Always some excuse. Hermione always felt a pang at that. It was just like him to pretend he was being selfish, sponging off his parents, when anyone with half a brain could see he was easing their grief.

And he always wanted to get together with her and Harry, 'the old gang', he'd say, and insist they go to the cinema or feed the ducks or go roller blading or go for a fly. And it was always drinks in the pub, with everyone, with the Order, with DA, whoever was around- though Ron never seemed to drink much. Couple of butterbeers; firewhisky if it had been a rough day. Lots of jokes and back slapping and George's latest gags.

And he always remembered her birthday.

One year it had been a first edition of  _Hogwarts, A History,_ a pair of purring socks (WWW latest range, lurid orange and furry) and a scrawled note saying  _Happy Birthday Hermione! Read this for the first time- needs revising! Know a chap in publishing when you're done- just say the word. Lots of love, Ron_. She loved that he'd written that- and that he 'knew a chap in publishing'. Ridiculous, but it turned out to be true. He came to the relaunch and managed to knock the hat off a very austere editor with a champagne cork. He was… a little distant. He was… living his own life, and it brushed up against hers from time to time, and there was always a look in his eyes, like they were smiling, dancing… but then he was off to Turkey or Bolivia and her world returned to legislation and negotiation and other words with too many syllables.

But this summer was different.

He invited himself over one Thursday night, and somehow that had translated into every Thursday night, and it was just the two of them, and it made her head spin.

It was always take-out and a movie, or a game of chess, or the knotty ethics of the wizarding world, and a glass of wine, and they'd end up lounging on the couch laughing.

But at some point in the evening, he'd sigh, and say it was late, and head off home, with a sort of a half hug, or a peck on the cheek, as though it was nothing. Hermione was never sure what to make of that. It felt so… reasonable. But the way he looked at her, eyes alight… she couldn't shake the feeling that deep down, nothing had changed, and he still felt… but she couldn't  _know_  that. Could she?

Summer turned to autumn and he stayed. Cautious optimism started to blossom.

There were things.

For example, someone mentioned Viktor Krum at a Weasley lunch, and Ron disappeared into the garden, lazy grin somehow not convincing. Or, when he gave her a scarf, soft and silky, from Romania, a beautiful dusky green full of rippling pattern… the perfect colour- and somehow made her feel a little beautiful. Classic Ron, though, he'd turned up with a bag full of take away, and the scarf shoved in a pocket- he'd plonked the takeout on the coffee table, and tossed the scarf onto her lap with a casual "Here you go", as though it wasn't as thoughtful and valuable as it clearly was.

Luna, frying almond meal pancakes in the kitchen one morning, said he was clearly waiting for the wifflylinks to bloom, from which Hermione understood that Luna thought he was biding his time.

Ginny, when consulted, said "Why don't you ask him? Or does feminism only apply to other people? Besides, there's never been anyone else for Ron. You know that."

And Hermione thought that she did know that, but couldn't properly believe it, because she really wanted it to be true.

Harry refused to comment, on the basis that he never got involved in their fights. Hermione said it wasn't a fight. Harry raised his eyebrows and said that he still wasn't getting involved.

George cheerfully gave her a handful of outrageous trick lingerie, and the provoking suggestion that that would solve all her problems. Hermione sensibly gave it back. But momentarily considered getting some regular lingerie. And promptly dismissed the thought.

It was nearly winter. He was still there. Looking a little tired, sometimes, from all the travel, but always there.

One evening, mid way through her second glass, warm by the fire, and content in the aftermath of laughter, Hermione found herself saying, amused and dry.

"I know you know I know. And now that I think about it, I know you know. So what's going on?"

He blinked with surprise, and then amusement and said, "I don't know what you're talking about,"

She rolled her eyes and nudged him with one purring sock-foot.

"Oh really,"

"Well, I might know, but you haven't given me much to work with,"

Hermione sighed, fluffed out her hair and took another sip of wine.

"Never mind,"

He frowned slightly.

"Oh."

He looked for a second like the awkward self-doubting teen he had been all those years ago. She gave him a gentle shove with her foot and when he glanced up, raised an eyebrow at him and smiled.

"So what is it, complex strategy?"

He chuckled.

"You could say that,"

"I see. How's that working out for you?"

He tipped his head, considering.

"Pretty well, I think… it depends on-"

"If you launch into a chess analogy, Ron, I'll- I'll- I don't know, but you'll regret it!"

He grinned apologetically, lifted her feet and slipped towards her, her knees making a triangle over his lap, his hand in her hair, his eyes earnest and so blue. In the pause before he kissed her, she ran her hand up his shirt front and instinctively leaned in.

It was melting and gentle and meant.

They broke apart, slightly suppressing delighted grins, caught each others eyes, laughed, and for the first time, stopped pretending they weren't in love.

"It couldn't be about anything else," Ron mumbled, "It had to just be us. So I couldn't- not while we were dealing with Voldemort- and then so many people died- and it just… it wasn't-"

"Just us,"

"Yeah."

"That makes sense."

"I was really worried I'd screw up the timing and you'd give up and start dating some quidditch player-"

"Good to know that's still making you jealous,"

"You know what I mean,"

"Of course," Hermione cast a calculating glance at him, and abruptly stood up, "Well, it's getting late. Better clean up- Luna is surprisingly strict about dishes. Claims they attract khorama beetles. Which is not good, apparently."

"Er- oh. Right, yes," Ron looked a little baffled, and guilty, and started banishing plates and empty takeout containers to the kitchen, "I should be heading back. The ghoul gets clanky if I get back after eleven,"

Hermione straightened the sofa cushions.

"You're not going home, you daft git. Luna's rituals for getting rid of khorama beetles involve yodeling, and I imagine we'd both rather sleep in tomorrow morning."

"Oh- um…"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"It's just…  _that's_  not in the plan. Well, not yet anyway. Not that I'm planning on- I mean, it'd be- I mean, don't you think it's a bit- soon?"

Hermione blinked.

"Leaving aside the obvious 'sleeping over doesn't necessarily equate to sex' point, when did you get so… officiously over-organised?"

Ron fidgeted, ears pink.

Hermione leaned against the back of the couch and regarded him in thoughtful amusement.

"I know you like strategy, but this is… well, actually,  _out_  of character. What happened to that opportunistic streak?"

Ron went redder and mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said, I don't want to screw it up."

Hermione tipped her head puzzled.

"It's your fault!"

"What?"

"What did you think was going to happen if you kept sending me organisational planners? You always use them, and you never stuff things up. Seemed like it was worth a try."

Hermione stared at him, gobsmacked.

"You used an  _organisational planner?"_

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

"Oh my god. I thought you were in love with me, I didn't realize you  _idolized_  me."

Ron snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, what am I supposed to think-"

"Not that!"

"Honestly, Ron-"

"Arggh! Ok, so clearly the planners don't work either! It's just me. Or you. Actually, this was going fine until you started in with the 'honestly Ron' business. Clearly this is your fault. Or possibly mine, for mentioning planners. Or yours for giving them to me. As though I have any use for organisational planners. Damn it! Now what? Do we storm off and not talk to each other for months?"

Hermione blinked.

"Uh…"

"Eloquent."

"Oh shut up."

"Bossy."

"Argh!"

"Bossy and rude. See no idolizing here. Also, those socks are hideous."

"You gave me these socks!"

"True, and they're hideous, and  _purring_  and you're wearing them, so it's a bit pot-kettle-black to be going on about me using an organisational planner, given that it's  _exactly_ the same."

Giant pause.

Hermione briefly considered pointing out all the ways in which it was  _not_  exactly the same. The purring of her socks made her think this plan might just lead to unpleasant escalation. Hmm.

"I'm never giving you an organisational planner ever again. You're clearly not capable of using them appropriately."

Ron grinned.

"I, on the other hand, will continue to give you weird items of clothing, just to see where you draw the line-"

"Oh, for- look, they're really warm- it's not like I wear them to work or anything- would you just stop being so damn provoking, put those blasted dishes in the kitchen and kiss me already?"

Ron's grin widened.

"I totally get why you like organisational planners. They really work, don't they?"

Hermione said a very rude word and threw a cushion at him.


End file.
